


Seven

by Neyiea



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Grace is trying really hard to be a good wingman, M/M, Seven Minutes In Heaven Game, Underage Drinking, tipsy idiots in like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 08:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19741894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: Last weekend was the first time Bruce played spin the bottle. This weekend Grace has a new game for him to participate in.





	Seven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheBruisedPrince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBruisedPrince/gifts).



> I think most of my contributions to this fandom as of late can be described as: stupid boys pine for each other. GOD.
> 
> I am, like, stupidly proud of the Hush references I peppered into here, because Bruce Wayne attracts villains like nobody's business, even ( _especially_ ) when he thinks they're just normal citizens (*cough* _Jeremiah_ *cough*). Since Tommy and Bruce in Gotham canon have a pretty different starting point than in other canon, we'll just say the whole patricide thing hasn't happened (yet).

Grace’s parents are away for the weekend and she had, quite politely, offered up her house as the setting for their next round of staying in to party. She invited a handful of school friends, most of whom Bruce can barely recognize after so many years away, and he might admit, to himself at least, that seeing Grace and Anna and Tommy interact in such a friendly, familiar way with people who aren’t him makes him feel a little jealous.

Which is stupid, because obviously they’re his friends now, too. But…

Bruce watches as Grace and Anna catch up with a small group, and as Tommy laughs at something who a boy Bruce doesn’t know at all says, and he moodily sips at his first drink of the night.

He wants to have fun, he wants to forget.

He doesn’t want to be ignored.

Especially not by—

Tommy looks over at him and smiles, and some of Bruce’s irritation eases away. Even more so when Tommy says his goodbyes to whoever he’d been talking to and makes his way over to Bruce.

“Just a heads up,” he says in place of a greeting, “seems like last weekend gave Grace some ideas. I saw the coat room in the main foyer was emptied out, so I think she’s planning on giving you a chance to play another game you missed out on.”

“Last weekend?”

“Yeah. Last weekend. You remember, right?” Something flickers behind Tommy’s eyes. “You asked what other stuff you might have missed since you left so young to be homeschooled and never got invited to any parties. Someone answered seven minutes in heaven.”

Bruce does have vague memories of that, so he nods.

But really, a lot of what he remembers about last weekend is pleasantly foggy, like most of his nights are, these days. Kissing girls, kissing Tommy, waking up to Tommy’s voice in the back of the cab. His head at some point during the ride must have settled on Tommy’s shoulder because when he woke up he’d been leaning right up against him.

He thinks Tommy might have even had to walk him to his front door, he’d been so drunk and drowsy.

That had been…

Nice of him.

Bruce quickly downs the rest of his drink.

“It’s very considerate of Grace to try and help me experience all these things I missed out on.” Bruce glances over at her direction. She catches sight of him and waves, and he finds himself smiling and waving back. “Next thing you know she’ll be trying to set me up on dates.”

“Have you seriously not been on a date before?” 

There’s a skeptical note to Tommy’s tone, and Bruce firmly looks down at his empty glass as he considers whether some of the times he spent with Selina, the ones that he really would have liked to be something more than two friends hanging out, actually were anything more.

“I’m not sure.”

“Bruce, if you’re not sure then it probably wasn’t a date. How does that even happen? You’re so—” Tommy cuts himself off and licks his lips, eyes darting away briefly. “You’re Bruce Wayne, just your name is a catch. Have you even—did you ever kiss anyone before last weekend?”

Bruce’s eyes flick up, and he finds Tommy giving him a look that reads as oddly intent.

“I’m not a kid Tommy. Of course I’ve kissed before.” 

Girls, anyways.

Tommy, it seemed, had the distinction of being the only boy that Bruce had ever kissed. Or, at least, the only boy Bruce could recall kissing. 

Not that Bruce will tell him that. The less Tommy knows about Bruce’s varied inexperience, the better.

“No need to get testy,” Tommy assures him with an easy smile, and he reaches out to take Bruce’s empty glass from his hand. Their fingers brush. Bruce feels oddly fluttery. Warm. Maybe he’s finally starting to relax. “Want a refill?”

“Yeah, thanks Tommy.”

“It’s no problem,” he says as he slips away towards the kitchen, and once he’s out of sight Grace pops into his peripheral vision.

“I’m guessing you might have heard already,” she starts with obvious excitement, “but I’ve got a game set up for tonight, and I want to get started before people are completely smashed. Otherwise everyone will just end up napping in the coat room for seven minutes.”

“I can see how that might make things a bit boring,” he says and Grace nods in agreement.

“We’ve got an uneven number so as the hostess I am the neutral party, holder of the lots.” She holds out a hand, gripping a dozen white straws, and smiles in an encouraging way. Then she very pointedly closes one eye.

Bruce raises both of his eyebrows.

“Why are you winking at me?”

“Winking? I’m not winking.” She casts a quick glance around. “I just had something in my eye, is all. C’mon Bruce, pick your straw.”

Bruce laughs under his breath and reaches forward to take one of the straws.

The bottom is coloured red.

“What exactly am I supposed to do with the person who I get paired up with? Since napping is off the table, apparently.”

Grace looks at him like she can’t quite believe that he has to ask. Bruce wonders if Tommy would have been equally incredulous about his lack of knowledge. 

Probably, considering how shocked he seemed at the idea that Bruce had never been on a date before. 

“Gosh, Bruce, what do you expect that teenagers are going to get up to while alone in a tiny room?”

Okay, that was fair. In Bruce’s defense this wasn’t exactly something he’d ever had to think about before. 

“You can talk, or ignore each other, but honestly there’s usually at least some kissing going on.”

“For seven minutes?” 

“Well.” Grace smiles in a knowing fashion. “Sometimes there’s more than kissing going on.”

“Ah, I see.”

He casts another glance around the room. He doesn’t even know if he’d have anything to talk about with most of the people here. He isn’t really in the mood to kiss them, either. He’s not even sure if a few more drinks would help on that front. 

“I’ve got to give out the rest of these straws.” Grace turns, her eye catching something. “And here’s Tommy coming back with your drink.” It looks as if she’s trying to supress a smile. “What a gentleman,” she says under her breath before her voice goes back to its normal volume. “I’ll catch up with you later Bruce. Try to have fun.”

“I always do,” he assures her with a smile, and he slips the straw into his pocket as Tommy returns to his side.

Maybe it’s because they’re not in a club, and the setting of Grace’s home is conducive to more personal conversation, but Tommy starts talking to Bruce about things that he hasn’t mentioned before. Thinking about which universities to apply to, contemplating what he actually wanted to do for the rest of his life, considerations of moving out after high school. 

So many things that Bruce has never thought about. Somehow university had never crossed his mind.

“I guess you’ll be going off somewhere to become a business major?”

Bruce can’t think of anything more boring than that sounds. He shrugs his shoulders.

“I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest,” he mumbles against his half-empty glass. It feels like a weakness to admit it, like it shows off just how different Bruce is from the people who used to be his peers, but if he pretends to have a plan and Tommy starts asking him questions it’s going to become really obvious really quickly that he actually has no idea what he’s talking about.

“You’ll figure it out. Maybe you could join me in undergrad,” Tommy says with a chuckle. “Four years of that. Then four years of med school. Then years in residency training. The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet.”

“… What?”

“It’s Aristotle,” Tommy’s eyes briefly go unfocussed, and the beginnings of a frown starts to tug at his lips. “He’s my mother’s favourite philosopher, she’s made me study him for years.” His frown deepens, and Bruce is struck with a feeling that there’s more to this than Tommy is letting on. “Ever since I was a kid, really,” he says, tone painted with something that sounded almost resentful.

Bruce doesn’t have any idea how to deal with other people’s feelings towards their parents. Some days he hardly knows how to deal with his own feelings towards his parents. 

“I’m not good enough with people to be a doctor,” Bruce says in an attempt to snap Tommy out of whatever strange reflections he’d been drawn into that had darkened his mood. 

Tommy’s lips quirk in a small smile, as if Bruce has said something funny and not just painfully honest. Bruce is honestly just happy that he’s not frowning anymore. “Doctors don’t have to be good with people. If you become a surgeon most of the time you’d be dealing with people under anesthesia anyways.”

“Is that what you want to be, a surgeon?”

“We’ll see. I should probably at least make it through undergrad before setting any specific goals for my specialty, but something about working in an OR seems really cool, right?”

“Yeah, it sounds interesting.” Bruce finishes his drink. “I’m going to the kitchen for a top up, do you want anything?”

“I’ll come with,” Tommy says as he falls into step beside him. He talks a little more about the universities that he’s looked into while they fill up their glasses, and by the time they get out into the main room again Grace is the center of everyone’s attention.

“Alright guys,” Grace says as she claps her hands together, “we’re starting with pink!”

A girl and a guy hold out their straws and Bruce watches out of the corner of his eye, somewhat curious, as they both make their way into the coat room.

No one pays them too much attention. 

Occasionally someone glances at the closed door, but overall it’s almost as if no one is hidden away in there doing who knew what. 

The seven minutes pass quickly, and when someone goes to knock on the coat room doors they exit with ease, not a hair or piece of clothing out of place.

Bruce has not had nearly enough alcohol to hold a half-decent conversation with anyone that he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. He wonders if that makes him mean. He wonders if whoever he gets stuck with will complain about him.

Maybe this wasn’t something he should have cared about missing out on after all.

“Next up, red with red!”

Bruce sighs and digs into his pocket to hold out his straw, and he hears Tommy let out a soft, “oh,” beside him.

He turns to see what caught his attention.

And Tommy is holding onto a red straw, too.

Bruce stares for maybe a little too long, but Tommy is staring back so at least he’s not the only one.

“Come on guys,” Grace calls out, “in you go!”

Tommy recovers first, and Bruce will happily claim that it’s because he’s more used to these sorts of amorous party games than Bruce.

“After you,” he says, gesturing for Bruce to walk towards the coat room first. Bruce quickly downs his drink—which he tells himself is practical and not at all because he needs something to help settle his nerves—and sets down the empty glass before striding forward. He walks into the dim space, and it takes less than two steps for him to be standing right in front of the back wall.

The doors shut behind them, leaving them in only the dim light that filters through the decorative screen at the top of the doors, and Bruce slowly turns around.

The coat room is wider than it is deep, but even then Bruce could probably cross the length of it in five strides, maybe even four. He shifts a little further to one side, and Tommy steps to the other.

They stare at each other for a few moments before Bruce attempts to break the silence. 

“So, what now?” Bruce doesn’t think he’s actually been quite so obviously alone with Tommy before without having considerably more alcohol in his system. They’d never hung out as kids, and nowadays even without considering whatever entourage joined in on their fun they always had Grace or Anna around. Now that they’re sequestered away Bruce’s hazy memories about their kisses from the previous weekend filter through his mind again, and he feels a little hot in the face. They had been nice. Better than the kisses he’d shared with girls whose names he couldn’t remember. 

His heart does an odd little flutter in his chest as he wonders if they’ll kiss again.

Tommy licks his lips before answering, and Bruce’s eyes are drawn to his mouth as he says, “I guess that depends on what you want to do.”

Bruce knows what he wants; he wants to play the way normal teenagers do. 

He’s through with letting opportunities for fun pass him by.

He only needs to take one step forward, since they’re already so close together in the confines of the coat room. Tommy seems to lean in a little, enough that Bruce can feel his exhalations against his mouth.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Bruce informs him, and the words have barely left his mouth when Tommy surges forward to initiate instead.

Well, Bruce thinks as Tommy’s hands thread into his hair, this works too.

He presses against Tommy’s mouth and throws his arms loosely over his shoulders, sighing into the kiss. Then Tommy’s fingers curl into his locks and he tugs, and Bruce’s mouth falls open with a soft gasp. He pulls again, harder, and Bruce lifts himself up to his toes to press himself firmly against Tommy. 

He’s definitely never been kissed like this before.

He likes it.

Bruce takes Tommy’s bottom lip between his teeth and bites down gently, and he smiles at the sound made in response to his actions. He bites again, harder, and then laves his tongue against the sore spot before pulling back slightly. His gaze flickers over Tommy’s rosy cheeks and and partially open mouth, and he can’t resist leaning in to teasingly press his lips to one corner of his mouth, then the other, then—

Tommy starts backing him up and in three short steps Bruce has his back pressed up against a wall.

“Five minutes left,” Tommy says, bracketing his hands on either side of Bruce’s head. “Better make the most of it, right?”

Bruce wonders if the usual pattern of this game is for people to make out and then act like it never happened, because he’s not entirely sure if that’s what he wants. He opens his mouth—to clarify what Tommy wants or to protest, he’s not entirely certain—but before he can say anything Tommy raises a finger to his mouth.

“Shh.”

Then he kisses Bruce again, and his tongue swipes over the seam of his lips, and Bruce’s thoughts blink out of existence. He parts his mouth and tilts his head as his hands skim up the back of Tommy’s neck to tangle in his hair. The kiss turns hot and slick in a way that makes Bruce’s toes curl; the slide of Tommy’s lips against his own, the feel of Tommy’s tongue in his mouth, is a sensation that he could get lost in. It’s slow, and deep, and hedonistic.

And Bruce finds himself wanting more.

How much time did they have left? Would someone be knocking on the door soon?

Tommy’s leg slides between his own and Bruce jolts at the sudden pressure. He can feel Tommy laugh against his mouth, and it doesn’t make him feel like he’s being made fun of, but it does make him want to do something just as surprising. It’s difficult to focus, though, with his heated blood starting to pool low in his belly.

He wants—

Tommy presses his thigh more firmly against him and Bruce shudders at the feel of it. If Tommy keeps doing that there’s no way that Bruce isn’t going to respond to it. There’s no way that Bruce is going to be able to keep himself from grinding against Tommy’s thigh.

Would Tommy like that? Would he find it sexy?

Would he find it funny?

Bruce wonders if Tommy would do this with anyone who happened to draw the same coloured straw as him. If some classmate of his from school would have his thigh pressed up against them instead, if he’d be kissing them just as deeply. If he’d be making them feel the things that he was making Bruce feel.

The jealousy he’d felt at the beginning of the party returns with a vengeance. 

He’s not as coordinated as when he’s sober, but it still only takes several seconds and a few quick movements for him to forcefully switch their positions. Tommy looks at him with wide eyes, and his face is more flushed than before, and Bruce can feel his lips stretch into a pleased smile as he lays his hands on Tommy’s hips and starts to lean in.

Someone knocks on the door.

Bruce kisses Tommy anyway. 

Seven minutes. Seven and a half minutes. Same difference.

There’s another knock, and they break apart.

“Can’t get enough of me, Bruce?” Tommy asks as he runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to fix it.

I don’t think so, Bruce thinks as he takes a step back, but what he says is, “I could ask you the same question.”

He hadn’t been the only one participating.

Bruce turns and opens the doors. As they step out Grace gives them both a strangely enthusiastic thumbs-up while everyone else who happens to glance in their direction gives them knowing looks that make Bruce want to scowl.

Tommy’s hand brushes against his own, and somehow that makes Bruce feel a little better.

“Let’s get another drink. I saw something in the kitchen that I want you to try.”

“Okay.”

Tommy starts walking and Bruce follows beside him, ignoring the colours that are called out next. 

In the back of his mind he wonders if once they’re alone Tommy might kiss him again. Because Bruce—

Doesn’t think he’d mind. At all.

He thinks that, most likely, he’d like it even if he were completely sober, and there are very few things in his life that he enjoys without the buzz of something in his system these days. 

He kind of wants to reach out to take hold of Tommy’s hand.

But he doesn’t.


End file.
